


the making of a viscountess

by thefudge



Category: Bridgerton (TV)
Genre: (it will probably get mildly dark but definitely trashy i'm sorry), Arranged Marriage, Belligerent Sexual Tension, F/M, Forced Marriage, Hate to Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28603425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: Marina confesses her predicament to Colin ahead of Lady Whistledown's column. Colin insists on marrying her anyway, but Anthony sees an opportunity to save a brother and do his own bidding. Anthony/Marina
Relationships: Anthony Bridgerton/Marina Thompson, Marina Thompson/Anthony Bridgerton
Comments: 51
Kudos: 123





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> some of yall...really need to stop goading me...  
> this probably won't be the only marina pairing i will tackle, but the minute i started writing them they grabbed me by the throat! the throat, i say!  
> anyway #justiceformarina!

The first step is always the hardest. Her mother had given her this enduring lesson, the _only_ lesson before dying.

Marina wipes a tear. She wishes she could sink into her mother’s arms right now and allow herself to be protected.

But as always, she must do this alone.

She steps into the parlor. Colin Bridgerton beams at her, his boyish face filled with the sort of uncomplicated love she could never understand, though she yearns for it.

“What’s wrong, my sweet?” he asks, coming closer to her, taking her hands in his, rubbing soft circles into her knuckles. “Please tell me you haven’t been crying. I’ve already told my family about our impending union and they do not pose any serious –”

“Colin. I – I have to tell you something, something that will make you hate me. But I cannot allow you to marry me in ignorance. My conscience won’t let me, even if, in doing so, I doom myself.”

Such talk from her scares him. She can see his unripe age in those blue eyes. This will be his first heartbreak.

The first step is always the hardest, but once she begins talking, she finds the words pouring out of her like water from a broken dam.

She knows Colin was not ready for this blow, because he cannot compose himself. He begs to be excused. He leaves. No, he _runs_ out of the room. Probably to hide his tears.

It’s her fault. Once she began speaking, she couldn’t mince her words. In the first moment, he was dazed and disbelieving. He asked her, point blank, if she loved him and she could not give him satisfaction. All she could say was say “I will come to love you, I am sure of it, because you are the kindest soul alive.”

But young men do not like to be called “the kindest soul alive.” They want you to love them passionately.

Marina sinks down beside her bed and lays her head on her knees. She doesn’t cry. She’s run out of tears.

At first, Anthony has a hard time making sense of his brother’s words. He has never seen Colin so discomfited. There is fear in his wet eyes, yet there is also stubborn determination. He is a Bridgerton, and he is about to do something stupid.

“I don’t care about the baby. I’m going to marry her anyway. It is the honorable thing to do. And none of you can stop me. I’ve decided.”

Their mother and Benedict, the only audience to this family crisis, can only stare at him aghast.

After a grave moment of silence, Violet thunders, “You have certainly _not_ decided! I don’t care how much it hurts your manly pride to hear this, but you cannot be allowed to throw away your future simply because you have naïve notions of honour! I might also add that you know _nothing_ of this young woman you plan on making your wife, nothing of this child you intend to raise as your own. This is not something to be trifled with! This is the rest of your life, Colin!” 

“Don’t you think I know that? Do I sound _trifling_ to you, Mother?”

Benedict intercedes. “Brother, I can understand your desire to protect this girl, but you cannot do so at the expense of your future and your family’s future. Think only of the fact that this secret will come out, one way or another. Lady Whistledown is probably writing the damned column as we speak. Either they’ll say you’re the father, or that you’re the cuckold who will raise it.”

“I do not care!” Colin cries, clearly distressed. “And I cannot believe the pack of you care more about society pages than saving a young woman from a life of misery! I’ve already promised her my hand and my love! I would be an absolute cad if I turned away now.”

“There is no man in England less of a cad than you! You promised her those things when you thought she loved you,” his mother argues, coming to his side, taking his arm. “You promised her a family, a family of your own.”

“What of it? We will have children of our own too,” Colin mutters, though his eyes are full of tears again.

Violet caresses his face. “Oh, my darling, you are so young and good.”

Colin wrenches himself away. “I am old enough to choose whom I wed and I’ve chosen her.”

“No, you haven’t.”

They all turn their heads towards Anthony.

He has kept quiet all this time, looking deeply in thought. He has been hatching a plan, a way out for his younger brother.

“You are only choosing her,” Anthony explains confidently, “out of guilt and a sense of responsibility. If you really loved her, you would be with her now, telling _her_ what you are telling us, making it harder for us to stop you. But you came to us first.”

Colin flinches, as if struck.

Anthony hates it. He hates being cruel, but he’s always been terribly good at it.

“I came to make sure you wouldn’t stop me –”

“No, you came because you needed your family.”

“I don’t need your approval –”

“You’re right, because this marriage is not happening. This time next month, you will be off on your grand tour, scaling the Acropolis in Athens.”

“I’m not running away like some coward -!”

“Of course not. You are simply removing yourself out of thoughtfulness, because the situation requires tact. You see, I shall marry her in your place.”

The gasps and cries that follow are enough to bring the entire household storming into the room.

But Anthony brooks no argument. He hears no pleas, no accusations. He has sealed his fate and he will not be swayed. 

Secretly, he has always wanted to give himself to something. He’s always liked a bit of self-imposed suffering. Colin talks a lot about honor, but Anthony knows that you only sacrifice yourself when you do not wish to _be_ yourself anymore.

By the time his brother is done speaking, he knows what he had to do. He’d told Daphne that he had finished with love and all its barbarous accoutrements. He had meant it. He requires a viscountess whom he will be in no danger of caring for deeply, a woman he can safely ensconce in the family seat and then ignore. And in comes Marina Thompson, who not only presents the perfect opportunity, but the perfect heir, a child he will not have to wait to sire. Even should he entertain the idea of other children with her, none of his own will have to bear the burden of being first in line.

The wheels spin quickly in his mind. As a distant cousin of the Featheringtons, her social standing is not very desirable, but nor is she to be underestimated. The ton had once considered her the Incomparable of the season. He can elevate her enough that people will consider it a romance rather than a scandal.

Before the family can stop him, he marches out of the house, straight to the Featheringtons’. If Lady Whistledown should write her little gossip rag, she needs a good story.

Colin follows him out in the street, but he doesn’t have the wherewithal to go further, for he would have to cross it and see Marina.

Anthony locks his jaw. _He_ has no qualms about facing her.

It’s Penelope who knocks on her door.

“Are – are you all right?” the nervous redhead asks, fiddling with a bracelet.

Marina stares out the window impassively. “No.”

“You did the right thing, you know, the honorable thing. It must have been terrifying –”

“Save it, Pen. Please.”

“I – I’m sorry. I wish I didn’t have to disturb you, but Anthony Bridgerton is here to see you.”

Marina looks up, eyes wide.

“Oh, God. He’s probably come to give me a thrashing for seducing his brother.”

“Mother and Father don’t dare cast him out, but I could – I could tell him to leave,” Penelope offers, affecting bravery.

Marina smiles. “No, I had better take it on the chin directly.”

“I can sit with you –”

“I must do it alone, Pen.”

Yes, always alone.

Though he never paid too much attention to her society appearances, Anthony is surprised by the difference in dress and manner in Marina Thompson. He remembers a proud and flirty debutante who knew she had her pick of the young men. Now, he sees a much younger-looking woman whose beauty is more muted and yet all the more striking for its sadness. Her curls are down, framing a drawn-out face. In her eyes he recognizes the absence of tears and the lingering sleeplessness of many nights. He frowns. He expected someone less innocent in apparel. She’s even dressed in white.

He steels himself. She must be quite the clever thing.

Marina bows her head.

“If you have come to tell me I cannot marry your brother, you may save your breath, Sir, for I intend to reject his suit –”

“Ah, I see you have found your errant virtue, Miss Thompson, but I’m afraid it’s too late for that. _Obviously_ , my brother will not be stepping foot inside this house again or setting eyes on the likes of you.”

Marina folds her arms around herself. “I see. Then please say what you must say and let me suffer my own penance.”

She looks much like a wounded bird, but there is an edge to her voice, a steely edge that tells him she is not as wounded as she looks. At least one of her wings may still be intact. 

“Very well,” Anthony proceeds in cold blood. “I have already spoken to Lord Featherington on the matter before you came down and he will write to your father before the end of the day. I’m sure your family, the little you have left, will not oppose your marriage to a viscount.”

Marina drops her hands. “What?”

“Quite the turn of events, isn’t it? Lucky for you, my interests happen to align with yours. It is a better fate than you deserve, but you shall have it, nonetheless. Not a shabby ending to the season for you, Miss Thompson. The rest of the Mamas will be quite jealous.”

“Is this – is this some sort of cheap trick? Are you mocking me in such a cruel way? I know I have done wrong, but I apologized to your brother and spared him a great deal of suffering –”

Anthony takes a few rapid steps towards her. Marina balks. Her back hits a chest of drawers.

He is suddenly in front of her. He does not raise his voice. He does not even touch her.

“You have spared him _nothing_. He is crushed. He might recover, someday, but he will never have faith in the frankness of feelings again.”

He tries not to think how much this mirrors his own disillusionment. More fool he, who could not learn when he was Colin’s age.

“And you wish to crush him even further with this supposed marriage?” she bites back, glaring at him.

Anthony was not expecting a rebuttal, not from someone in her position. Yes, he was right about that steely edge.

“It is what needs to be done, for all parties concerned. Do you reject my suit?”

He knows she cannot. She might reject Colin, but not the viscount.

She knows this too. Her lower lip trembles. She looks away.

“Or perhaps you think you can find another husband in the nick of time?” he taunts.

“You have precluded that by taking the liberty of informing my family before me,” she says, jaw clenched.

“It does not feel so nice to be kept in the dark, does it?”

She meets his eye. “What do you want from me?”

Anthony tilts his head, considering her. “You know, he would have been gentle and loving to you, my brother. But you don’t have to fear that from me. Oh, no. You will find out your purpose once you become my wife. It will be nothing too strenuous, I assure you. You will be able to continue the deception of who you are quite easily, I imagine.”

Marina raises her chin. “How kind of you.”

He smiles with only half his mouth. “I suppose that is a yes?”

She glowers at him. “Yes, my lord.”

“What wonderful news,” he drawls, cold gaze sizing her up.

Marina tries to move past him, but he seizes her elbow, fingers pressing down on the thin sleeve through which he can feel her warm and frightened skin.

“But we cannot forget that you hurt him, the brother I love most. And I will punish you for it. Mark my words, I will find a way to do that. And you must bear it, darling betrothed. You must bear it all. Do you understand?”

She shivers under his glacial gaze.

He knows he shouldn’t have touched her, but he cannot deny that he enjoys the palpable fear and hatred in her eyes. It is something to aspire to.

Marina nods curtly. “As you say, my lord.”

He releases her, taking a step back, and he notes with pleasure her small exhale. She is still shivering.

“I shall return in due time with more…happy returns. Good day to you, Miss Thompson,” he says, giving her a mock-bow, before leaving the room.

His blood is racing as he walks out of the house.

For the first time since his father died, he feels every inch a viscount.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally able to update this story, wohoo!  
> fair warning: anthony is a tortured jerk and will continue being a tortured jerk for the foreseeable future. but my girl marina can easily go toe to toe with him.  
> thank you for your reviews and for supporting my crackship!

“Well… it seems you are a cat who always lands on her feet,” Portia Featherington remarks as she inspects Marina’s meager trunk of clothes.

“You will not want for new dresses from now on,” she adds, fingering a cotton hem.

Marina puts down a piece of darning. “I would rather not have any, not from him anyway.”

Portia looks up fiercely. “Whatever can you mean by that?”

“Just what I said. I will do my best never to ask anything of him.”

Portia laughs coldly. “That is ridiculous, my dear. That is what husbands are for.”

Marina walks to the window. Her view of the back court affords her little comfort. All she sees is more houses like this one, where the inhabitants fight for every scrap of worldly attention. She doesn’t sense Portia behind her until the older woman puts a hand on her shoulder, nails digging in.

“You will ask him for many things, but the trick is to make it sound as if it were his idea.”

Marina turns her head and meets Portia’s gaze.

“I want nothing to do with him.”

Portia huffs. “Too late for that, I’m afraid.”

“It should have been one of your daughters, not me,” she says, shoulders sagging.

Portia’s jaw clenches. Her blue eyes have always been her best feature and now they are inexpressibly proud and sad.

“I know. I would have done anything to see one of my daughters a viscountess. And do you know what is most galling about this entire ordeal, Marina?”

“That my condition puts me so far beneath your daughters?”

Portia smiles a strange, faint smile. “That, in spite of all that, you are still better.”

She lifts her hand to touch Marina’s perfect cheek. In that touch, there is the yearning of the mother and the woman, a desire for a perfect daughter, a perfect companion who understands her.

Marina opens her mouth, but Portia quickly drops her hand.

“I won’t have you turn up your nose at this great chance. And I expect you to be grateful to the family who assisted you along the way,” the older woman reminds her. “Very grateful, indeed.”

Marina gently nods.

Portia claps her hands. “Good. Shall we continue?”

“He won’t answer your letters, you know. Not for a few months, at least,” Benedict tells him as he straightens his boutonniere.

Anthony moves away from his brother and stares at his reflection in the mirror. He isn’t happy to see the stern figure there, but he’s learned to live with it.

“He will answer, eventually,” he says, brushing his cuffs. In time, Colin will see that he was liberated from an obligation.

“It’s not too late to stop –”

Anthony casts Benedict a look of warning, but the latter does not heed it.

“I know why you’re doing this, and I know you think that duty is the most important thing in the world, but one day, you will come to regret –“

“If I were ever to regret this, it would be an insult to our brother,” Anthony cuts him off quickly. “Now please let’s not talk about it anymore.”

Benedict shakes his head. “I suppose you could have done much worse for a wife.”

Anthony smiles coldly. “Could I?”

“She’s quite lovely, all things considered.”

Anthony does not dignify the comment with a reply. He has succeeded, so far, in not thinking about Marina Thompson as anything but an expedient. And he is still in that state of mind when he walks into the chapel.

The scant family and friends gathered in the pews apprehend him with curious eyes. Lady Whistledown’s latest column was quite spirited, commending the newlyweds for providing the surprise match of the season, but the whiff of scandal was all over it, of course. Any sort of hasty matrimony raises eyebrows. It will not last, however. Once he removes himself and his wife from society for a few months, everything will return to its predictable pattern.

His mother will need more time, however. Like Colin, she is not willing to forgive him any time soon. She avoids his gaze as he walks past her, but she holds her head high, lest anyone should smell weakness on her. A Bridgerton may collapse inwardly, but nothing must show outwardly. Outwardly, in fact, he and his mother look perfectly serene.

Anthony positions himself in front of the vicar’s pulpit and stares straight ahead.

He can hear the small flutter of movement - people turning and craning their necks - when his bride enters the chapel, but he doesn’t sneak a glance. 

He only claps eyes on her when she reaches his side. She is dutifully given away by her father, who affects a rather grim look for someone about to join the family of a viscount. Marina seems almost relieved to let go of his burly arm.

She says no word of greeting. 

Anthony glances down at his bride. And frowns.

“Where is the wedding gown I bought for you?” he asks under his breath.

For, behind her veil, Marina is wearing a rather simple and unadorned white frock, more appropriate for a mushroom hunt in the meadows.

“I gave it to Philipa Featherington. I wanted to do something kind for her, so I told Madame Delacroix to alter it to her measurements. She will make better use of it, I’m sure.”

Anthony clicks his jaw. “Your apparel is not fit for a viscountess.”

“I am not a viscountess yet, am I? Let us be married first,” she suggests demurely, bowing her head.

Anthony swallows the retort on his lips. He will not lose his temper during the service, but he will have words with her later. He expects they will have many words, indeed.

He’s still thinking about what he will do with her when the vicar tells him it is time to exchange rings.

Marina takes off her glove without his assistance and gives him her hand as yet another small measure of her defiance. But when he takes her hand in his he is surprised to find that it is shaking slightly. She cannot control it. She is frightened. Anthony presses his other hand over her wrist, keeping her hand still as he slips the band over her finger. It is not a gesture of comfort, but it comes close to it. Marina manages to place the ring over his finger without too much trembling. It is a blessedly short spectacle.

The vicar tells him he may kiss her.

Anthony would rather not, but he lifts her veil slowly.

The face underneath is soft and frightened, yet _determined_ to get through it. She looks like a child soldier, readying for battle.

Anthony bends forward and brushes his lips quickly at the corner of her lips. Marina gasps softly, but doesn’t move away. It tastes oddly sweet, this un-kiss.

What an absurd word, _wife_. And yet, she is now his wife.

He turns, slightly uncoordinated, towards the handful of guests who have risen and are cheering the couple. 

Anthony stares into the faces of his family who try to smile and clap along as if nothing were amiss. He places Marina’s hand in the crook of his arm and leads her out of the chapel, under a sparse rain of rice and flower petals.

Marina picks up a petal which has got stuck in her curls. She stares at it for a moment, before she blows it out of her palm. It is such a strange, girlish gesture it makes him want to ask her if she made a wish.

But the child quickly disappears and the woman returns as she lifts her head and tells him she is ready to go.

The small reception at the Bridgerton house is for family and close friends only. Marina is saying goodbye to the Featherington girls who are all weeping, though out of joy or misery, one cannot tell.

His mother has absconded to one of the drawing rooms, avoiding having to make conversation. It rather depresses him.

He’s surprised when Eloise, of all people, walks up to him with a glass of punch. “One for the road. I assume you’re leaving straight away.”

Anthony gives her a half-smile. “You really should be minding your manners when you speak like that, Sister.”

“You’re the one dashing off with a bride before the porridge has cooled.”

Anthony gives her a look.

“I’m not judging! I like Marina quite a bit, in spite of everything. She’s made of pretty stern stuff.”

“I wouldn’t call duping young men into matrimony being made of stern stuff,” he comments rather acidly.

“Well, she stopped before the duping, didn’t she? Besides, you wouldn’t understand. You’re a man.”

“What is that supposed to –”

“Give it a think,” Eloise says with a puckish smile, and she runs off before he can reprimand her.

Anthony drains his glass. He watches Marina embrace Penelope Featherington. They both look like they don’t want to let go. It gives him a cruel kind of pleasure to call for the carriage to be drawn.

Marina watches the son kiss his mother goodbye. It is the coldest goodbye she has ever seen. Violet Bridgerton’s smile is thin, but she makes a considerable effort to take Marina by the shoulders and wish her all the happiness in the world. They don’t quite embrace, but Marina is all too happy to escape her clutches and settle into the carriage.

It is cozy and colorful and warm inside, the cushions and rugs fitted for a longer journey.

Soon enough, her husband closes the door with a click and settles in the opposite seat. He deposits his hat next to him and stares out the window at the slowly vanishing Bridgerton house.

Marina tightens the shawl around her shoulders. Will they make conversation or spend the entire ride in silence? She supposes silence would be easier. She lets her thoughts wander to their destination and the coming days. What will be expected of her? What will her duties entail? She is used to keeping a modest house. She is used to farm life in the country. She is used to waking up early and working all day, but she doesn’t have a single clue about being the mistress of a large estate where she will probably be expected to give commands. Perhaps _he_ will teach her, though the idea offers neither comfort nor reassurance.

As if he’d heard her thoughts, he says in a voice that sounds deceptively polite, “You aren’t to defy me again.”

“Pardon?”

His eyes meet hers. “You will wear clothes befitting your new rank and you will follow my instructions in all matters regarding social and domestic affairs. You will not give away things I give you.” 

Marina frowns. Perhaps it isn’t wise to argue, but she cannot help it. Anthony Bridgerton intimidates and annoys her in equal measure. “Isn’t charity part of the duties of a viscountess? I’m sure I’ve seen the great ladies march about the villages with baskets of goodwill. What I did was not that different.”

His eyes flash angrily. “Mind your words, dear wife. You _are_ to be one of those great ladies you mock, and I will not allow you to cause me embarrassment or unease.”

Marina buries a small laugh in her throat. “Then you are a glutton for punishment because I don’t think I shall ever _be_ one of those great ladies.”

His slanted smile unsettles her. “Oh, I am sure you will manage, for the sake of the child you carry.”

The words chill her to the bone. Marina places a protective hand over her stomach.

“What do you mean by that?”

Anthony leans back comfortably in his seat. The same slanted, lazy smile graces his features. “It is quite simple. I have married you, Marina, which makes you and your child mine. Whether a boy or a girl, that child is now a Bridgerton. If you wish to be its mother, you will not put a foot out of line.”

Marina feels bile rise in her throat. “You cannot keep me away from–”

Anthony frowns. “Did I imply something so _heinous_? Then you don't know me at all. I am merely telling you what your duties are. Surely, you wouldn't want to stand in the way of your child's success?" 

Marina glares at him in silence for a few moments. Her chest heaves up and down in anger.

She tries to master her voice before she speaks. “I know you, my _lord_. I’ve heard of your reputation. How you play at seducing opera singers and penniless dancers, how you abandon them at the drop of a hat when they have nothing else to give you. You are not just a rake. You are foul, and you are no man to judge me. I’m sure there are children across the city bearing your name that you will never recognize. I will do my duties, as you demand, but I shall _always_ find you contemptible and I will teach my child better than to look up to the likes of you.”

Marina halts, breathing hard. She cannot quite believe she said all that to him, but it is too late to take it back now, and she doesn’t want to.

Anthony looks at her impassively, as if her little speech had little effect on him. And yet, she can see the small muscle under his eye, pulsing faintly, angrily.

He smiles that perfectly cold smile of his. “Contemptible? Why, just the thing I had in mind.”

The air in the carriage crackles with static. They stare at each other, neither of them giving in. Stubbornness equally matched.

It is clear they want to get out of each other’s sight. But they’d also like to hurt each other. Neither desire can be fulfilled, at the moment. They must sit in silence and restrain their uncivilized instincts until they reach the estate. The cushions feel hard to the touch. The floor slips under her feet like ice. She makes an effort to remove herself to the other corner, far away from him, but his presence has a strange, unbearable magnetism. She trains her eyes on the scenery and thinks about how pleasant it would be to take one of these cushions and put it over his face.

She doesn’t know how well-matched she is in thought by her husband.


End file.
